


Unsubstantial Death

by JuliaTybalt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Secret Marriage, marriage law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaTybalt/pseuds/JuliaTybalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Ministry of Magic passes a marriage law, Hermione Granger finds out that things are not always what they seem. Despite believing herself widowed in the Battle of Hogwarts her marriage bond is still active. Is unsubstantial death truly amorous...or is her husband really out there somewhere, and if he is, can she find him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood & Truths

Hermione Granger walked shakily through the Ministry, repeatedly taking deep cleansing breaths. The atrium was filled with protesting wizards and witches, and even the Ministry workers looked haggard. Usually, Hermione would be right there, protesting the passage of the new (and very old) Marriage Law, and she had done, but not today.

Today her name had come up in the ‘lottery,’ supposedly at random. She knew better, of course. The Ministry wanted war heroes to set good examples for the rest of the populace. She should be angry, really, but she was too tired, too sad, and in too much pain to rail at the system any longer. Another jagged bolt of pain went through her as she took another step and knocked on Percival Weasley’s door in a last ditch effort to make someone _listen_ to her.

The usually impeccably put together Percy Weasley opened the door at her knock looking far less put-together than normal. His red hair was sticking up at odd angles, his tie was crooked, and from the black eye he was sporting, someone with a hell of a right hook had punched him in the face. “I can’t help…” He paused, seeing who was at his door, and sighed, opening it wider. “Come on in, Hermione. At least you won’t hit me.” He shuffled back, attempting to smooth out his hair, before sitting back down at his desk, strewn with parchment...which based on the excessive amounts of ink, were probably angry letters.

“Thank you.” Hermione said, gratefully falling into the chair across from the desk.

“I still can’t help you get out of it, Hermione.” Percy said with a sigh. “I know your feelings on how it is a violation of human rights, but all I can do is suggest that you marry and when it comes up for review, appeal it after the year is up.”

“Percy,” Hermione ground out, despite herself, as another shooting pain went through her and she winced, holding her hand to her chest. “I _can’t._ I don’t mean I can’t as in I won’t obey the law, though I probably would still be opposing it, I mean that I physically _can’t._ ” She shuddered slightly.

Percy, haggard though he was, took a closer look at the young woman he had known since she sat down beside him at the Gryffindor table before her first class and wanted to know everything about Hogwarts that wasn’t in _Hogwarts, A History_. She didn’t look...well, and suddenly, he was concerned. “What do you mean, Hermione?”

Hermione grimaced and took a deep breath, ignoring the pain that caused, and flicked open two buttons on her blouse. She pushed aside a rapidly reddening piece of gauze to show him the black circle of runes on her chest, which was weeping blood. “It’s normally gold.” She said, with a shake of her head. “But when the Ministry put the betrothal through, it turned black and it’s been bleeding ever since. I’ve already taken half-a-dozen blood replenishing potions in the past two days, Percy. If I go through with it...If I try and marry someone...the fidelity vow will kill me.”

Percy’s face flushed in embarrassment at the sight of Hermione’s chest, but his concern outweighed it, and he inspected the runic circle. “You’re already married?” he said in disbelief, finding it hard to wrap his mind around that when he had known her for so long. Then again, he hadn’t been in touch with his family throughout the war, until the end. “No one ever said! You should have told the Ministry to remove you from the lottery.”

“I tried!” Hermione all but wailed, wiping fresh blood from the runes, before covering it again and doing back up her blouse. “They said because the battle of Hogwarts was over a year ago, I couldn’t file for an exemption as a widow!”

Percy frowned at Hermione, suddenly realising why she had been so depressed since the war ended. He had thought it was merely time to recover, but this...this suggested far more, and his heart went out to the muggleborn who had done so much for his world and for his family. “Hermione, you’re not widowed, you’re _married_. Your husband is still alive.”

Hermione shook her head, curls flying in all directions. “No, Percy.” She choked out. “You don’t understand. I _tried_. There was so much _blood_...I didn’t have dittany...I had used it all... or antivenin...it was the middle of the battle…” Despite herself, she let out a raw, unsteady sob. “I see it every night, Percy. _Every night_...he _died_...and I _knew_   who he truly was and I… the one person who _should_ have been there, who should have _stayed_...and I _left him there._ ” Despite herself, fat tears were running down her face. She had never been able to talk about this with anyone. No one except Dumbledore had known, and he was long gone. She had been forbidden from grieving in any real way.

Percy had grown up in a large family, one with warm jumpers, lots of hugs, and warm soup when one was sick, but he had always been awkward and never learned the lessons well. He was too young to fit in with Bill and Charlie while Fred and George had their own bond no one could impinge on except death and Ron and Ginny had been too young. Still, he tried to comfort his friend, who had welcomed him back without resentment or ire after his momentous and terrible mistakes. “I’m sorry, Hermione.” He said softly. “I can only imagine how hard this has been...you’ve lost your parents and then this.” He cleared his throat and patted her back in a way that he hoped was soothing but felt robotic. “But you are still married.”

Hermione let out a bitter, pained laugh, and quoted softly: “ _Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous?_ ” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

Percy felt unsettled by the way she spoke and shook his head. “Look, Hermione, I’ve spent the past ten months researching wedding and bonding magic for the Ministry. Yes, the _istigh ionat_ bonding rites you used are ancient, so ancient they don’t even register in the Ministry’s marriage archives...which is probably why you chose it...but even the _istigh ionat_ bonding doesn’t enforce its’ fidelity vow past death.” He circled back around to his desk and pulled out a large book, opening it and flicking through it’s pages. “I’m removing you from the banns and sending your partner to be reassigned due to your preexisting marriage.”

“But Percy…” Hermione said weakly, shaking now, unable to help shaking at what he was telling her. “He’s _dead._ I was _there_. All he wanted was to see _her_ again.”

  
Percy put his quill down authoritatively, as the parchment clutched in the muggleborn’s hand disappeared. “Hermione, some magic..little charms and insubstantial bangs-and-smells parlour tricks can lie, but true arcane magic -- magic wrought in emotion and between people, that can’t be faked or fooled.” He gave her a thin smile. “People can be deceived, even the Ministry, but…” He paused and tipped his head, in deference that he had figured out the true depth of what she had said. “No foolish wand waving can trick those runes. Your husband is alive somewhere. You just have to find him.”


	2. New Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy gives Hermione a lead to people who might be able to help her find Severus.

Percy Weasley was relieved when after a few handkerchiefs and three cups of tea Hermione Granger was a decent facsimile of herself. He cleared his throat and relaxed into his chair. “You won’t be able to find him by yourself, Hermione.”

Hermione went pale at that, shaking her head. “I can’t tell Harry and Ron.” She said, desperate. “They won’t help me. Sure, Harry thinks Severus is a hero now, but he also thinks he’s dead. He doesn’t know that Severus knew where we were the whole time, that I was giving him information. He may decide not to help me in a fit of anger. He’s so angry over all the losses...it’s Sirius all over again. Besides, all I’ll ever hear is how much Severus _loves_ his mother, and I can’t exactly tell him that I think his self-sacrificing _perfect_ mother was an absolutely hard-hearted _cow._ ” Her eyes rolled upward. “And Ron! Merlin, he’ll go mental. He’s still hurt I wouldn’t run off to Gretna Green and marry him.”

Percy snorted and shook his head. “I never said a thing about Harry or my brother.” He pulled out a pad and started writing. “No, you need Marcus Flint.”

Hermione blinked despite herself, doubt creeping into her voice. “Flint? The Slytherin Quidditch Captain with the horrid teeth who had to repeat a year?”

“I’m not telling you that you need to _snog_ him.” Percy said with a chuckle. “In fact, I’d advise against it. His wife is a vicious little thing.” He ripped the piece of paper off the pad. “And I’d like to see how you’d do on your N.E.W.T.’s if you found out you just lost your mother.” he sighed and handed her the paper.

Hermione looked at it, doubt in her face. “Why would he help _me_?”

Percy put a hand to his head. “He’ll help you as a favour to me, and probably as a favour to Snape. Marcus was Robards’ spy inside the Death Eaters, he’s an Auror now.” He grinned a little. “And you did help kill You-Know-Who and freed him from that.”

Cautiously Hermione took the paper from him. “Do you think he’ll be able to help me find him?”

Percy gave her an encouraging smile. “If anyone can, it’s Flint. He’s the best we have at finding dark wizards right now. He knows how they think.”

Hermione looked down at the address and nodded. “Okay. I...I want him _back_ , Percy. We hardly had any time together and what we did have the war was hanging over us.”

“I’ll tell Flint to expect you at six.” Percy told her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Just...watch out for his wife. Morag is...nothing you’ve ever had to deal with before.”

Hermione couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “I’m going to a former Death Eater’s house, and you’re warning me about his _wife_? Why?”

Percy laughed at that. “Because I’m not an idiot, and I don’t think you learned how to do anything but stab horcruxes with the Sword of Gryffindor.”

* * *

 Six o’clock found Hermione at a house just this side of too small to be called a manor, nervously knocking on the door. She didn’t know Marcus Flint hardly at all, mostly from Harry and Ron’s complaints and the altercation between the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams in her second year, so she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. She was pleasantly surprised when the man opened the door himself, albeit intimidated by his height. “Mr. Flint?” She said cautiously. “Percy Weasley sent me, he said you might help me find someone.”

Marcus smiled politely, albeit cautiously. “I know. Please, come in.”

Hermione was slightly relieved to see that his teeth had been fixed, and followed him cautiously, trying not to remember the last time she had been in a Death Eater’s home. Luckily, the kitchen he had shown her to was bright, airy, warm, and smelled of freshly baked bread -- nothing like the oppressive atmosphere of Malfoy Manor’s drawing room. “Your home is lovely.” She observed, relaxing, just a bit.

“Thank you.” Came a voice from a corner, and Hermione turned to see a pretty redhead who was putting a chunk of bread into a niche on the wall. “Would you care for some tea?”

“I…” Hermione started, planning on saying that she was not here on a social call, but then, wary of Percy’s warning decided not to risk offending her hostess. “That would be lovely.”

“Hermione, my wife Morag MacDougal.” Marcus said by way of introduction, lowering his head to press a kiss to the redhead’s hair as she passed him.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Hermione said after a moment, trying to place the name. She knew it, but she wasn’t sure why. “You were in some of my classes, weren’t you?”

Morag gave her a chilly smile and Hermione felt as if she had made a misstep. “I was.” She admitted, as she brought tea service over to the table, floating a tray of sweets and biscuits to the table.

Hermione, afraid of offending the woman more for the fact that her husband might not help her, decided to get down to business as tea was poured and handed to her. “Percy tells me you’re my best bet at finding Severus, Mr. Flint.”

“The best one who won’t kill him on sight, yes.” Marcus said with a chuckle. “I owe Severus a lot in that last year. I was...surprised when Percy spoke to me today and told me of your issue. I thought he was dead.”

Hermione’s face fell slightly. “So did I.” She admitted. “I still...I still have my doubts.”

“Well, there’s one way to know.” Morag said, sitting down at the table across from Hermione. “Let me see the runes.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open, and her hand rose to her chest. “Wha...what?” She demanded, nervously. It had been nervewracking showing _Percy_ , let alone a complete stranger.

“If there’s an expert in Celtic blood and sex magic left in this country, you’re looking at her.” Marcus explained easily. “And if Percy is right about the type of binding you have, we’re the only two who have an even _older_ binding style than you.”

Morag smiled indulgently at her husband. “You’ll go get the book about it from the library, won’t you, _mo chridhe_?”

Marcus nodded, finishing off his tea and heading for the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

Hermione tensed, being left alone with the strange Ravenclaw. “Why an older binding?”

“Same as you, I imagine.” Morag replied, all business. “Spying is hardly a safe vocation. Now let me see the runes.” She snapped her fingers. “We haven’t much time until he comes back.”

Hermione closed her eyes against the indignity, but unbuttoned her blouse again, glad that the bleeding had stopped, at least.

Morag was quiet, tilting her head slightly to read them in a way Hermione had been unable to do. After a moment, though, she nodded slightly. “You can cover again.” She said, repouring her guest another cup of tea.

Hermione was just getting her breath under control when Marcus reappeared, book in hand. “Well?” He queried, handing it to his wife.

“He’s still alive.” Morag said, flicking the book open and quickly going through the pages.

Marcus sighed and settled back into his chair. “So now we just need to find him.”

Morag looked up from her book, smirking wickedly. “I can think of one way to call him quite quickly.”

“No, Mora.” Marcus said, with a head shake. “She’s our guest.”

“Next thing I know, you’ll be asking in a bloody _Campbell_ for dinner.” Morag muttered mutinously, but went not further, for the laws of hospitality.

Marcus laughed at that. “I solemnly swear that no matter what, Lennox and his ilk won’t step foot in here, no matter his Quidditch scores.”

Hermione didn’t understand why the girl seemed to dislike her so much, but she had spent too long being looked down on. “I’m sorry if I and my dirty blood are somehow sullying your house.” She spat. “All I want is help to find Severus.”

“Myopic, aren’t you?” Morag spat back. “I couldn’t care less about your blood status, Madam Snape. I care more about the fact that you and your friends ruined my chances to become an Unspeakable, something I’d wanted and worked for since I was a child.”

Hermione went still in shock. “I never even said three words to you before this!” She argued. “I did nothing!”

Morag sneered. “It takes a minimum of eleven N.E.W.T’s to become an Unspeakable, Madam Snape, twelve if you want to make an impression. How many N.E.W.T. classes do you think it was possible for me to take after you and your little friends destroyed decades of work and all of the time-turners?”

Hermione didn’t know what struck her more, the sound of someone other than Albus Dumbledore calling her Madam Snape, or the fact that she had never considered the effect of the destruction of the time turners on other Hogwarts students. “Oh.” She said softly. No wonder Morag seemed to dislike her. She had only known of the wizarding world since she had gotten her letter: if she had grown up wanting a job and someone else had accidentally made it impossible, she wouldn’t want to help them either. “I’m sorry.”

Morag shook her head at the Gryfffindor. “It’s done, Madam Snape. All you need to know is that we’ll help you find your husband.”


	3. History Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Marcus discuss ancient history and what's happened since the end of the war.

In the days that passed, Hermione tried to throw herself into her studies. Her apprenticeship tasks were all but complete, and she didn’t want to lose focus now. Still, though, she found it hard to focus on the bubbling cauldrons in Slughorn’s potions’ lab. She had chosen Potions mastery over Transfiguration, Charms and Arithmancy based not on skill but in sentimentality. It was something she could keep, something that would remind her. Now, however, there was a very real chance that the reminder might be unneeded. As soon as the latest batch of Veritaserum was ready to steep, she was going over to the Flints to meet Marcus and Morag. In the weeks since their first meeting she had come to form a real respect for them both, and tonight they were discussing a lead Marcus might have found in some shady character. A shady character they would be meeting tomorrow. A shady character who might help her find Severus. She timed the potion and let her thoughts drift. She drifted through a lot of things lately, struggling for her usual grounding and pragmatism since the war had ended. Sometimes she felt like a boat that had lost its’ mooring.

* * *

 That feeling was magnified after sitting in the MacDougal-Flint kitchen sipping tea. She felt so close to something with this latest lead that even though Morag had wandered off with a cheerful trill of ‘ _Off to do research,_ ’ while Marcus kissed her on her forehead and sent her on her way, she stayed sitting. She had still not quite managed to sit down Harry and Ron and tell them about Severus: his being alive or her marriage. In a strange way, these two people she would have never exchanged more than a few sentences with knew more of her personal life than her best friends, and wasn’t that sad? After all, Morag hated her, and Marcus...she never knew what to think about him. He was by turns serious and upbeat, but friendly. “Your wife hates me.” She informed him, staring into her tea.

Marcus paused slightly at that, hand halfway to the biscuit tray. He sat his hand back down and sighed. “Morag…” He said slowly, sighing. “Morag’s angry. Morag’s angry at everyone who isn’t Percy or me.” He pushed his chair back with a sigh. “The war ending has been hard on her.”

“The war _ending?_ ” Hermione repeated, half in disbelief. “Isn’t the fact that it’s over a _good_ thing?”

Marcus pushed back, tilting his chair on two legs. He looked guiltily toward the narrow stairs in the corner of the kitchen. “I suppose I _should_ tell you.” He said slowly. “You’ll experience some of the same things, if we’re successful.”

Hermione was burning with curiosity, eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t say anything. He seemed reticent, as if he would somehow be betraying his wife’s confidences to speak of it. Instead, she encouragingly pushed the plate of biscuits toward him, and topped up her cup of tea.

Marcus smirked, as if he knew what she was doing, but took a piece of shortbread anyway. “Morag and I married secretly over Christmas break, during her sixth year, right before I started spying.” He admitted. “When seventh year started, she tried to get through as normal, putting her head down and working hard, but the DA and the Carrows were constantly squaring off, and she was feeling pain through the bond on and off when the Dark Lord decided to pay attention to me.”

“But she wasn’t a member of the DA.” Morag said, trying to remember the new faces in the Room of Requirement. “And I don’t remember her hiding with them after the final battle.”

Marcus’s mouth was set in a grim line. “She wouldn’t.” He said softly. “I begged her to, and she refused. She called it cowardice to hide while I was putting myself at risk.” He stared off, as if remembering something. “To most of the DA, her refusal to take the sanctuary without telling them why, and the fact that she was -- and is -- stunningly good at the Dark Arts was enough to set most of them against her. It was us vs. them, and she wouldn’t play, which made her a them.”

“Did they hurt her?” Hermione asked, cautiously.

“Only with words, but they cut deep.” Marcus said, shaking his head. “It completely destroyed her friendship with Macmillan and they’d been best friends since they were in nappies together. He’s tried to reconcile a few times, but still…” He stood up and moved over to the pantry, pulling out a brown bottle of some kind of liquor. “That was better than the Carrows, especially Amycus. While traditionally Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin, Morag’s family is old and noble. She was a bit too quietly arrogant and sure of herself, a bit too good in his class. She became a favourite target. He wanted to make her break, to bow to him the way he had to bow to the Dark Lord.”

Hermione felt herself go cold. She had heard much about what the Carrows had done to their students. “What happened?”

“The Cruciatus, whenever he could trump up a reason.” Marcus said, tipping a good portion of the alcohol into his tea. “He expected her to beg.”

A shiver went through Hermione as she recalled her torture in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, how she had begged and lied. “Did she?”

Marcus snorted, and gestured with the tea to a stained glass window in the kitchen, a picture of a boat she had always found oddly comforting, but he was pointing to the banner underneath it, that read clearly: ‘Conquer or Die.’ “What do you think?”

Hermione looked at the words and frowned. “I think it’s stupid.”

“Says the _Gryffindor_.” Marcus rejoined in amusement. “Though I didn’t disagree at the time. I begged her to give in after the fifth day he had cornered her. She told me that she couldn’t dishonour her family that way, that she had to be strong for her ancestors, that even in the witch hunts MacDougals didn’t break.”

Hermione snorted in disgust. She had heard too much about the witch hunts as a muggleborn. “That’s an excuse. Witches just cast flame-freezing charms, Wendelin the Weird…”

Marcus raised an eyebrow at her. “Did you know the Fat Friar was executed for witchcraft?”

Hermione stopped at that, confused. “What?”

“The Hufflepuff ghost.” Marcus repeated. “The Fat Friar, he was executed for witchcraft after his superiors became suspicious of his ability to cure pox.” He glanced sideways at her. “They didn’t burn everyone, you know, and I don’t know many people who could pull off a wandless flame-freezing charm with their hands bound if they had...of course, here in Scotland, they strangled you before they burned you. The MacDougals lost quite a few from both the magical clan, and the muggle clan that was founded by squib relations in the twelfth century, including a six-year-old who was seen levitating a spindle.”

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut at that. She remembered with astonishing clarity her old History of Magic essays that suggested the witch hunts were useless. She had taken the book at face value. “Why weren’t we taught this?”

“Politics, I think.” Marcus answered with a shrug. “Dumbledore couldn’t avoid addressing it altogether and not have the Board of Governors in a tizzy, so the curriculum was focused on people like Wendelin the Weird and Lisette de Lapin. Probably so people who hadn’t been raised with family histories of it wouldn’t fear muggleborns and muggles so much.” As much as he would rather discuss ancient history, they were getting off topic. “At any rate, Severus saved her more than once from Amycus’s wand, because the darling girl refused to dishonour her clan and ancestors by begging for mercy.”

“That’s why she’s trying to help me.” Hermione realised, quietly. “Because he saved her.”

“I think she’s more inclined to help you because he helped _me_ .” Marcus said with a laugh. “In her mind, he helped me when he could, keeping her spouse safe, so the least she can do in turn is give his back to him. I admit, I feel the same way about it. He saved my wife from a lifetime in the Janus Thickey Ward, I want him to have his.” He paused and took a deep drink of what was now more scotch than tea. He didn’t want to bring it up, but he wanted to make sure she had thought this through. “But you do realise that when you get him back, it will be just like your fourth year, only worse. Just like Morag’s dealing with,  the blood purists and former Death Eaters will have it out even more for you. You won’t just be Hermione Granger, muggleborn genius and Order of Merlin, you’ll be the _traitor’s wife_ . To the light, you’ll be the child-bride of the spy who will never really be trusted. To the DA, you’ll be the one of them who _shagged_ the man who let the Carrows torture students, and to the people on the street’s you’ll be a Death Eater’s whore.”

“i know.” Hermione said softly. “Sometimes I wonder if he stayed away to spare me that.”

Marcus stood up and refilled the teakettle, putting it back on the stove, cleaning the pot with a spell, and adding more leaves to it. “Possibly.” He said quietly. “I hate seeing Morag come home some days. It was worse in the beginning, when she had thought it would be better. Every person who hissed at her, or shop that turned her away was a new shock. When a ministry employee spit on her the same day Yaxley’s sister hexed her in the street, I thought she’d never leave the house again. Our circle has shrunk to just the two of us and Percy, and now you, more for self-protection than anything else.”

Hermione was surprised by his bluntness, but she set her shoulders and pulled up her Gryffindor courage from where it had lain dormant for so long. “He’s worth it.”

“You know,” Marcus remarked, as he refilled the teapot with hot water. “You still haven’t told me how your bonding happened.” He bit into a jam biscuit. “I’m curious. Professor Snape is much older than you, a Slytherin, and surly on the best of days.”

Hermione held out her teacup for a refill, and smiled to herself, thinking of black eyes and a sotto voice that ran through her like a shock. “ _Let me not to the marriage of true minds/Admit impediments. Love is not love/Which alters when it alteration finds,/Or bends with the remover to remove: O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,/That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;”_ She quoted, and then laughed at the look on Marcus’s face. “All right, I’ll tell you, but only because you’re helping and we might need friends in the future.” She settled back in her chair slightly, adding milk to her tea as she took a breath to start her story.


	4. How It Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus and Hermione discuss how Hermione and Severus married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not happy with this chapter, but everything I do seems to make it worse, so I left it this way.

Hermione stared into her teacup as if it held answers, afraid to look at Marcus in the face. She had never told anyone the truth before. “I know what the papers always say, that Harry, Ron and I were brave, noble, fearless heroes, but I spent a lot of the time terrified.” She gave a sound that was half snort and half laugh. “I still can’t play wizard’s chess without nightmares.” Just the mention of it made her shiver. “Severus put himself in danger for us, coming for the idiot children who he thought went after a murderer and a werewolf on the full moon.” She shook her head, blowing a curl out of her face. “This is coming out all wrong, you’ll think I was some besotted schoolgirl who thought him some sort of brooding antihero.”

“It had crossed my mind.” Marcus admitted. “There were more than a few Slytherin girls who threw themselves at him.”

Hermione cracked a smile. “Oh, I knew he was a git. I never thought I’d forgive him after I got hit by the _Densaugeo_ hex. He’s also bad-tempered, has impossible standards and freezing feet.” She sighed slightly. “My fifth year, the battle in the Ministry, I was almost killed. He saved my life with a potion regimen, and I asked him to teach me to duel. I knew I wasn’t as good at Defence as harry, and it was one of the subjects you couldn’t learn from books, no matter what Umbridge tried to say.”

“And he agreed?” Marcus asked in amazement. 

“No.” Hermione said with a laugh. “Not at first, anyway. It took three tries, a promise to help him with brewing the simpler potions for the infirmary for him, and pressure from Dumbledore to make him agree.”

“Slytherin to the core, that one.” Marcus said with a chuckle. 

“He actually tried to make me quit at first.” Hermione said, smiling in remembrance. “He challenged me, pushed me, and expected me to give up. I didn’t. I just fought harder.” She laughed again. “Five years of trying to gain his approval in Potions, to get even one ‘well done, Hermione,’ and instead, it took managing to stupefy him to gain his respect.”

Marcus snorted. “Not exactly a way to start a romance.”

“It wasn’t a romance then.” Hermione admitted. “Not even for me. I thought I was quite over any inappropriate feelings for my professors after the fraud.” She bit her lip. “He remembered my birthday.” She said softly. “No one ever did, not before the war was over, not even Ron and Harry. He gave me a watch and said that as his protege, it fell to him, since my parents were muggles. I...didn’t even know he thought of me as a protege.” She started playing with the gold watch around her wrist, swallowing slightly. 

She could still remember the moment like it was yesterday, his long, calloused fingers pressing the gold watch into her hand. It wasn’t wrapped, not even boxed, he had removed all of that to add charms he thought useful. The gold had been cool against her palm, which was sweaty and gross after yet another night of serious duelling. His voice had stunned her, and the words had formed a happy little bubble in her stomach. 

“Eventually, I prodded him on the fact that the Headmaster was dying. I couldn’t understand why no one else saw it, the curse decay, moving up his arm. No one could survive that long-term. I didn’t know then what he was dealing with, what Dumbledore had asked of him, and he had gotten angry, shouted and threw me out.” She sighed again at the memory. “When Dumbledore discovered that I had figured out he was dying, he decided that I could be useful, keeping Severus informed when Harry and I were on the run.”

“So it was the Headmaster’s idea?” Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow. “And you just agreed to marry him?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, it was Severus’s idea. He said that if any suspicion ever fell on me, he wanted to ensure his memories and testimony could not be able to be used against me.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “He believed that if we won, and Harry and Ron suspected I had any contact with him during the war then they would brand me a traitor and throw me in Azkaban. A husband can’t testify or be used against his wife.”

Marcus could see where this was going. “And it offered extra protection for Potter, because he could tell if you were in pain over the bond.”

“Which is why the Headmaster agreed.” Hermione said with a nod. 

“Why did you agree?” Marcus asked, noting she didn’t give her opinion. 

“I didn’t, at first.” Hermione murmured, dunking a biscuit into her cooling tea. “I wasn’t ready to marry someone I didn’t love for the war effort.” She sighed. “So they agreed I should learn Occlumency instead. Even if they obliviated me, I’d just notice his arm again.” She groaned. “But, Marcus, being in his mind like that, feeling him in mine...I started the lessons already respecting him, his intelligence, and over the lessons I learned to enjoy his wit and sarcasm, but in Occlumency…”

“You started to love him.” Marcus finished. 

“And so, I said yes.” Hermione agreed with a nod.


	5. Before The Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morag and Hermione mend fences and make friends as they prepare to meet someone who might have a lead on Severus. Before that, however, Hermione has to tell Ron and Harry and Morag gives them a language lesson.

“Would you stop _squirming_!” Morag hissed in frustration at Hermione, trying to put final touches on the bevy of identity concealing and various glamour charms she had put on the other woman in the past twenty minutes.

“Sorry!” Hermione grumbled to her in return. “I’m never any good with this sort of thing.”

“Well thank Macha there’s something you’re not instantly brilliant with.” Morag grumbled, continuing to alter Hermione’s skin tone, making her even paler than she already was.

Hermione winced at the barb. She had thought that she and Morag were getting along better, maybe even approaching something she could consider friends.”I’m sorry you have to help someone you hate so much.” She said, voice gone colder.

“I don’t hate you.” Morag corrected. “I used to. I used to hate you more than anyone, but I don’t anymore. You don’t even _realise_ what you did to everyone else for six years, so how can I hate you for it?”

“What did I _do?_ ” Hermione asked in frustration. “I didn’t even _know_ you in school.”

Morag sighed, and her wand paused, for a moment. “Everything came so easily to you.” Morag said softly, so that Hermione had to strain to hear it. “Oh, you studied, certainly, but you were such a genius you could run around going to Quidditch games, knitting caps for House-Elves, dating foreign Quidditch players, creating illegal clubs, pestering everyone about joining some charity organisation you created, going to parties held by professors...and still get _bloody_ _112_ % on exams!” her voice had risen slightly, but she modulated it back down. “For Macha’s sake, you were petrified for _months_ and still managed to beat out everyone for top of the class. I could spend every free moment focusing on schoolwork, skipping meals and Quidditch games just hoping to get better exam results, and it never mattered.” She shook her head. “The _one_ time I managed to score better than you, it didn’t even _count_ because it was _Umbridge_ , and so what?”  Morag stopped again and took a deep breath. “No one else could impress anyone, because Hermione Granger did it quicker, or better or first.” She shook her head. “It was hell trying to compete with the ‘ _Brightest Witch of Her Age_.’ and not only could I not beat you, but you didn’t even know I _existed_.”

If she was honest, Hermione had never thought about her fellow students when considering her marks. Why should she? She had helped Ron and Harry through seven years, had worked her hard, and she deserved those marks. She had never imagined anyone taking it as seriously as she had, certainly not when sharing a dorm with Lavender or Parvati, or watching people make up foolish predictions for divination. She wouldn’t apologise for trying to be the best, but she understood. “For what it’s worth, I probably would have hated me too.”

Morag chuckled slightly, groaning as she stepped back to inspect her work. “Hmm. Well, I don’t hate you now. You’re probably the closest thing I have to a girlfriend now.”

Hermione smiled at that. “I’m glad. I would normally say Ginny’s my closest female friend, but I haven’t been able to tell her any of this, about Severus, any of it.” She smiled wryly. “Friends?”

“Friends.” Morag agreed, before turning around. “Oi! Marcus! Come up here and tell me if she’ll pass!”

Hermione smiled to herself as Marcus ambled in the room, giving Morag a smile, and tweaking her hair, before even looking at Hermione. She had heard awful things about Flint being a bully, but he always seemed pleasant with her, and downright affectionate with Morag. “Why do you need my help, _leannan_? You know what Isobel looks like.”

“Not from…” Morag made a wild gesture with her arms. “ _This...this angle!_ ”

Marcus let out a rumbling laugh, and inspected the work critically. “It’ll do, I think.” He agreed. “Throw an arisadh over her head, just in case the hair rebels.”

“Hmm.” Morag said thoughtfully. “I’ve a bottle of Sleekeazy’s I can get for the day of. Have you got the date set?”

“Two days from now.” Marcus said with anod. “We’ll be using Malcolm’s pub in Montrose, so distraction should be easy enough.” He laughed slightly. “The Queen of Argyll walks in and no-one pays attention to anything else.”

“At least until the free round runs out.” Morag said, rolling her eyes. “Still, it works.”

“Which means, you might want to think about talking to your friends.” Marcus said, looking at Hermione. “If Tapperluke has a lead, we’ll probably be setting off as soon as possible so it doesn’t go cold. You could conceivably have your husband home by the weekend.”

Hermione froze, nervousness rising in her throat as she thought about discussing this with her friends. “I…” She swallowed. “I don’t know how to tell them.” Harry and Ron were the last things she had of her early days in the magical world, one of the only things that never changed.

“I can go with you, if you like.” Morag said, offering her a smile as she reversed all the spells and charms after noting noting each one down. “I did mine alone, and I wished I had someone at my back when I did.”

Hermione wanted to say no, but she had a feeling that in order to keep the peace, she might lose her Gryffindor courage. Harry had gone from hating Severus to putting him on a pedestal for the sake of his mother. He might take the fact that Severus had married her to be a betrayal of Lily, or a suggestion that Severus had somehow lied to him in his memories. Harry might even take the fact that she had dragged Phineas Nigellus around with them for the purpose of keeping Severus informed on their journey as a betrayal of _him_. He definitely wouldn’t like that she had kept their marriage and the truth of what had happened from him. She also realised that Morag was trying to be a friend: giving her something that she herself had lacked when she had lost Ernie Macmillan or any of her other friends that Marcus had mentioned turning on her. “Thanks, I’d like that.” She smiled wanly. “I’ll owl you?”

“Sure.” Morag replied, giving her a bright smile. “I’ll grab that bottle of Sleekeazy’s.”

* * *

 Hermione was nervous, and she checked again to ensure that everything was perfect, tilting a throw pillow just a little to the left as she waited for Harry and Ron to show up in her house.

“Stop fussing.” Morag advised, putting her hands on Hermione’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth.” She breathed with the frantic former Gryffindor and smiled at her. “It’s going to be all right.” She reassured her. “If they are angry because you love someone they’re lauding as a hero, then that’s on them. If you need me, I’ll be here for anything you need, and that includes slapping ridiculous wizards.”

She knew she shouldn’t but that made her chuckle. “Thanks Morag.”

“No problem.” Morag reassured her. “I’m going to tuck myself away in the library, but I’ll be keeping an extendable ear out, aye?”

Hermione nodded, blowing another breath out through her teeth. “I’ve got some new journals on my desk, if you like.”

“I’ll have a look.” Morag said with a grin, disappearing into the study and letting Hermione in the front room to await the arrival of her best friends.

Harry and Ron arrived with a rush of green flames from the Floo as Hermione was arranging and rearranging her tea service. She jumped up, and hugged them both, a little afraid that it might be the last time either of them wanted anything to do with her. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Blimey, ‘Mione, we just saw you the other day.” Ron grumped as she hugged him.

“ _Her_ mione.” She stressed, still not big on the imbecilic shortening of her name. Still, she laughed and gestured for them to sit down. “Do you two want tea? I made tea. I’ve also got cocoa if you prefer and…”

“Hermione, you’re babbling.” Harry pointed out, sitting down and grabbing the cup of tea that was prepared just the way he liked it. “Come on, out with it, what’s wrong?”

Hermione sat, seemingly losing a bit of the nervous energy, and reached for her own tea. “I don’t know how to start…”

“Is this about the marriage law?” Ron asked. “Look, Mione, I asked you and you said no. Padma and I are going to make a go of it, so if you don’t like who the Ministry saddled you with…”

Hermione was almost relieved that Ron was his usual slightly callous self. She knew it was partly because she had hurt him, but she shook her head. “The Ministry hasn’t _saddled_ me with anyone for the same reason I didn’t marry you, Ron. I’m already married.”

In any other situation, the expressions on their faces would have been humorous. It wasn’t often someone’s jaw unhinged in such a manner, let alone the Boy-Who-Lived and his best friend.

“To who?!” Ron demanded. “We’ve never seen you with anyone! You never said a thing!”

“Dumbledore swore me to secrecy.” Hermione admitted, feeling her eyes prick. “That I wouldn’t say anything to anyone until the war had ended, and when it did end...I thought it didn’t matter.”

“But...that would mean…” Harry said slowly. “You were married in _school_?”

“I was almost a full year older than either of you to start with.” Hermione reminded them.”Plus the age I added onto myself from the time-turner in third year.”

Ron was looking at her in horror. “You were married to _Dumbledore?_ ”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she shook her head violently. “No! Merlin, Ron, he was _gay_!” She shuddered slightly at the thought and could have sworn she heard a giggle from behind her study door.

“Then who?” Ron asked, ears flushing red.

Harry however, had gone pale, and was shaking his head. “That’s why you took Phineas Nigellus with us.”

Hermione nodded slowly. Harry’s expression was stony, and everything she feared. “It’s also why we survived Malfoy Manor.” She said slowly. “Bellatrix..” She stuttered slightly, closing her eyes to fight the natural convulsion that came with the visceral physical reaction to talking about this. “Bellatrix taught Draco Occlumency. Mine isn’t as good. If Severus…”

“ _SNAPE_ ?!” Ron bellowed, angrily. “You _married_ that...that... _greasy git_?!”

Hermione ignored Ron’s raising her voice just slightly to be heard. “If _Severus_ hadn’t been able to take over and bolster my defences while I was under the Cruciatus, we’d all be _dead_ , and Voldemort would have won.”

Harry’s face was blank, but then he shook his head. “Snape’s dead, Hermione. You’ll still have to marry.”

Hermione bit her lip, and proof of how anxious she had been, tasted blood from biting it raw. “No, he’s not. When the Ministry set the banns, the fidelity vow of our bond kicked in…”

“ _Bond_ ?” Ron interrupted. “You _bonded_ the bastad?”

“Yes, Ronald!” Hermione snapped. “We had to make sure it didn’t show in the Ministry archives, _and_ it was through the bond that we’re alive!”

Harry defused the argument with a very clear statement, sounding almost relieved. “Well, at least you can go on about your life as normal.” He grinned at her. “You get to escape marriage, and nothing else changes. You can live your career-life and change the lives of magical creatures without worrying about a husband and kids.”

Hermione was chilled by this statement. Was that what Harry thought of her? A spinster before she even hit her mid-twenties? “I’m going to find him, Harry.” She said, solidly. “I’m going to bring him home. I wanted...I want you to support me, to be happy for me.”

Harry’s smile fell and his jaw ticked. “Hermione, you’re one of my best friends. I don’t want to see you hurt. Snape doesn’t love you.”

“You can’t know that!” Hermione shot back. “How he and I feel is between us, Harry James Potter!”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t fool yourself, Hermione. He loves my mother. He went through everything for her, _everything._ His patronus even represents her. _Always_ , Hermione. Always doesn’t leave room for you. You’re only going to get hurt if you do this.”

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes and shook her head to push them away as she felt her throat close over. Harry wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know. He was only repeating the truth. He had no way of knowing that it was next to her worst fear, surpassing even living chess pieces. For a moment she tried to speak, but only managed a squeak. She was about to break down, but then she smelled apples as someone wrapped their arms around her tightly.

“Breathe.” Morag’s voice said calmly, and she felt a hand in her hair. “Deep breaths, Hermione.”

Hermione did so, letting out an almost hysterical giggle as her hands came up and she wiped her eyes.

“Who are you?!” Ron demanded.

“Her friend, who are _you_?” Morag spat back.

Ron puffed up at this. “ _We’re_ her friends!”

“Yes, I can see that.” Morag drawled, sarcastically. “Lovely job you’re doing, too. You should write a book: _Making Your Best Mate Cry in Fifteen Minutes or Less_. I’m sure it’ll sell at least a copy, ye bawfaced spoon.”

“Morag.” Hermione said quietly, collecting herself. “It’s okay.”

“It’s na’ okie!” Morag said, her accent thickening as she lost her usual studied elocution with just a hint of Scots. “They’re talkin’ like yer aff yer heid.”

“Hermione.” Harry tried again. “I’m not trying to be mean, I’m trying to save you the hurt. It wasn’t _your_ eyes he wanted to see when he was dying, and he didn’t come back for you when he lived. He let you think he was _dead_ …” Harry cut himself off with a squawk as large, painful-looking boils erupted on his face.

“Awa’ an’ bile’ yer heid ye _mouth-breathing, titfaced bassas!_ ” Morag said angrily. She brandished her wand at them. “Oot, now!”

“Sorry, Hermione.” Harry said, disappearing in the Floo with a hand covering his face. “I wish I was wrong.”

Ron stayed only a minute later, long enough to mutter “You’re not who I thought you were.,’ at Hermione before disappearing into the flames as well.

Hermione fell into hysterical laughter. “I can’t believe you just hexed The-Boy-Who-Conquered.”

“Well,” Morag said with a smirk. “I dinna ken, I thought ‘twas a bit of an improvement. I wouldnae let ‘em get a leg over either way, he’s a chest like a board and an arse to match.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at that, but she fell to the sofa only a minute later. “What if he’s right? What if it is all about Lily?”

Morag had nothing to say to that, simply sat beside her, handed her a cup of tea, and smoothed her hair until she felt better. It was something her mother used to do, and something she had missed dreadfully since she sent them away. “Thanks for being here.”

“Spy wives gotta stick together.” Morag said after a moment. “No matter what.”


	6. The Blue Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Marcus, and Morag go to a pub.

“So, let’s go over the plan again.” Marcus said, as he watched his wife transform Hermione Granger into someone else entirely.

“I’m Isobel, Morag’s older sister, meeting up with you two for a drink. You and Morag go in.” Hermione repeated, dutifully. “I wait until the song changes, and then I slip in, and sit with you at the table, while Morag...does _something_ , I’m not sure what.”

“I entertain a load of drunken Scotsmen.” Morag replied with a laugh, putting a final charm on Hermione’s nose and then tapping it with a finger.

“Don’t stab anyone.” Marcus reminded Morag, waving a finger at her.

“Take all the fun out of it, why don’t you?” Morag pouted, eyes gleaming. “Mind the English, I’ll handle the entertainment. I’m the heiress of Clan MacDougal, I can distract them easily.”

Marcus rolled his eyes at her, before holding an arm out for each woman. “Let’s get this over with, ladies.”

* * *

 The Blue Dove was everything Hermione expected it to be, and somehow more. It reminded her of the Three Broomsticks a little, with the bright, merry light from the windows and the clatter of glasses, but the strains of music made her toes want to tap, distracting her from both her nerves, and the slight nauseous feeling from being side-alonged. Marcus and Morag entered, and the song that was being played creaked to a stop and changed, Hermione, as Isobel, waited only a moment before following Marcus into the pub.

Morag was indeed distracting all of them, apparently having her own theme song in the bar, and declaring everyone could have one drink, and ‘ _not a dram more!_ ’ Letting her friend be swamped by grateful patrons, she followed Marcus to a table at the side, where a man sat. Unlike Mundungus Fletcher, the man they were meeting wasn’t particularly shabby or looking out of place. She would have never known he was some sort of spy contact for Marcus.

“Tapper.” Marcus said, leaning back in his chair.

“Flint.” The man said with a nod. “You taking both sisters now?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the insinuation, but Marcus just shook his head as a barmaid brought over a flagon of cider for each of them, then kept walking, delivering the same to the next table.

“Don’t get any ideas, Tapper. Izzy is above your paygrade.” Marcus admonished. “Now did you contact me for the free drink, or do you actually have a lead?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Flint.” Tapperluke said with a chuckle. “I got your info. Bit of a shock, though. I thought the old snake bit it in the battle, but…” He reached into a satchel at his side and pulled out several photographs.

Hermione felt her throat tighten as she watched the image. It was Severus Snape, of that there could be no doubt. Oddly, though, he was dressed in a suit, instead of traditional wizarding robes. She watched as the image looped, and Severus glared at something in a window, turned and moved to walk the corner. Percy had told her, Morag had confirmed it, but somewhere in her heart of hearts, she didn’t _want_ to believe it. She didn’t want to believe that he had abandoned her -- but then, what could she expect? She had abandoned him too. She had left him bleeding out on the floor. She had left him _first_ , and she would be the first to seek him out. She’d make it right, even if he wanted nothing to do with her. After all, Harry had already thought her an old maid, would it be so horrible to be alone if he wanted it that way? Even as she thought that, though, she knew the answer was yes.

Mechanically, she took a drink of the cider, having to hide her wince at the strength of it, forcing herself to pay attention to what was being said at the table.

“You’re not trying to take him in, are you Flint?” The source was asking, eyes narrowed. “I don’t hold with that.”

“Do I look like a Hufflepuff, Tapper?” Marcus asked, looming slightly over the table without standing. “Do you know what that man did for Morag and I? No , this is a personal quest.” He smiled wickedly. “Now tell me where you found him, or I can call Morag over here and _she_ can ask you. Trust me, Tapper, you don’t want that.”

Tapperluke swallowed hard, and pushed a piece of paper across to Marcus. “Here’s the address. He’s in Australia.”

“Australia?” Hermione repeated, and then took a swig of the potent alcohol.

“Yeah.” Tapperluke said with a nod. “Went pretty muggle too.”

“Thanks, Tapper.” Marcus said, watching Hermione’s face out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll tell Malcolm you get another drink.” He shoved a velvet pouch of galleons at the man.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Flint.” Tapperluke replied with a little salute. The man took his drink and moved to the bar, ignoring the brawl that had broken out in the center of the floor.

Marcus looked at Hermione. “So what’s in Australia? You just about turned green.”

Hermione swallowed hard, hearing the strange voice that was not her own go hoarse as she answered. “My parents.”

* * *

 It took twenty minutes for Marcus to wrangle Morag out of the middle of the brawl that she had somehow instigated, and another fifteen minutes for the laughing, smiling woman to settle down enough to do a shot of whisky and sit down to hear what they had found out, and even then she was practically bouncing in a way that made Hermione smile, when all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and weep in a corner.

“So, what have we got?” She chirped.

“Australia.” Marcus said after a moment. “Isn’t Katrina in Australia?”

Morag waved a hand. “Kat lives in New Zealand, but she has a penthouse in Sydney. We can use that no problem, but Kat will have to go out and be seen with Ludo.” She scrunched up her nose, ignoring Marcus’s growl. “I’ll dash him off an owl.”

“Whose Katrina?” Hermione asked, curiously.

“Older sister.” Morag said by way of explanation. “Well, oldest. You’re the middle, of course.” The look the redhead leveled at her reminded Hermione that she was wearing the guide of another MacDougal sister.

Hermione opened her mouth to ask why Morag was heiress if she had two older sisters, but then decided discretion was the better part of valour, and that it would look rather stupid for Isobel MacDougal to be asking her sister why she wasn’t in the running, and closed it again. Really, even asking who Kat was had been a mistake, but how was she to know? Did it matter if it meant she got to see Severus again?

“Relax.” Marcus advised. “We’ll stay here a bit, let Morag sing a song or two to the drunken populace like she does whenever she visits, so it doesn’t look suspicious, and then we’ll prepare to leave. Did you take off, like I suggested?”

“Yes.” Hermione admitted, even though it had pained her to do so. She hadn’t taken any time off work since her failed attempts to restore her parents’ memories. She had been a little too good at removing herself, and any attempt to restore their memories she could attempt would have done too much harm. Sometimes she really was too smart for her own good.

“Good.” Marcus said, turning to the low stage with a smile, where as he predicted, Morag had co-opted the microphone and was singing a low, slow ballad about love and loss that made Hermione’s heart hurt, and Marcus’s eyes shine.


End file.
